


Raise a Little Hell

by faranth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Week, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, F/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faranth/pseuds/faranth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred and Camille have a job to do, but they won't say no to having a little fun on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise a Little Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr in honor of rare pair week. The name that I've chosen to use for Monaco is Camille.

_[“We are the pair that they’ll discuss  
Yes, this world will remember us”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpX3NoKxqr0) _

\--

“All right, doll, let’s run,” Alfred says, ducking into their car and grinning.  A bullet ricochets off the door just as Alfred slams it shut, and Camille speeds off, fast as she can, and they leave the convenience store they’ve just robbed in the dust.

“You got the dough?”  She asks, chancing a glance at her partner.  Alfred’s grin widens, and he stretches out in his seat, relaxing like a big cat—lazy on the surface, but all coiled power underneath. 

“Sure did, sweetheart.  It was a piece of cake.  They didn’t know what hit ‘em, just like you said.”

Camille allows herself to mimic his grin, tilting her chin smugly.  Alfred had argued against her when she suggested stopping in the little South Carolina town on their way north toward Charlotte, because he hadn’t wanted to rob another convenience store so soon after the  _last_ store they’d robbed. 

(The Feds, he’d reminded her, were already on their tails for the hooch they’re hauling up to Atlantic City; they didn’t need to give them anything more tangible to chase.

“Look, Al,” Camille had replied, “what do they know in some little backwater southern town?  We can get in an’ out in no time at all, you’ll see.”

And then Camille had widened those big ol’ baby blues of hers and had pressed herself up against Alfred’s side, all soft curves, and Alfred hadn’t been able to say no in the end.

It hadn’t mattered, anyway, ‘cause she’d been right.)

They sit in companionable silence for awhile, as Camille drives them as far away from the robbery as they can get.  All around them are rolling hills and farmland, with the occasional worker toiling in the hot summer sun—life in South Carolina ain’t easy, not like in the big cities up north, where the money is, and Alfred remembers why they’ve gone and gotten involved in illegal liquor.

His mama and his baby brother both starved after the boll weevils destroyed their only livelihood, and after they were gone, his pa had simply given up, fading away to nothingness.  His pa had never been the same after that, and Alfred had sworn to himself that he’d never let that happen to him.  He wouldn’t be destroyed by some hick town with nothing going for it but the roads leading away.  No, he’s got his heart set on New York City and the chance to make a big name for himself.

He tilts his head back and sighs, watching Camille from the corner of his eye.  She’s smiling to herself and the sun catches on her blonde hair like a halo, and Alfred thinks that he won’t let  _her_  waste away either.  She—who wants to be the  _it girl_ , the darling of the big screen—is radiant, much too radiant for rural South Carolina.

They’re gonna get outta here, he thinks, and they’ll never want for anything.  He’ll make sure of it.

 “Say, Al, how about you take me dancing when we get back to civilization?”  Camille asks eventually, breaking the silence once they finally cross the state line into North Carolina.

“We have to be in Jersey soon,” Alfred says half-heartedly.  He knows that Camille will get what she wants, because she always does.  (And he likes her all dolled up, besides.  But they still have a job to do.)

“Not for another week.  We’ve been making good time since leaving the stills.”  She throws him one of her big grins and tosses her head like a wild horse before turning back to the road.  “’Sides, don’t you wanna let me be a proper lady for awhile?”

Alfred laughs and slings his arm around her shoulder.  “There ain’t no proper ladies dancing in speakeasies, sugar.”  He pulls her close and hums softly when she lets one of her hands drop from the wheel to rest on his knee. 

“C’mon, Al.  Don’t we deserve a little fun?  We’ve been working so hard, after all, an’ now we’ve got the dough for it.”

“You just wanna wear that new dress of yours,” he retorts, laughing a little louder when she squeezes his knee.  “Fine, fine!  We’ll go and play.”

(They don’t go dancing the first night they’re in Charlotte, preferring to lay low after they hear their names on the radio, in connection with a chain of looted stores and a busted moonshine still.  Camille laughs and twirls him around their hotel room as they listen, drunk on illegal booze and their first taste of the spotlight.)

-

The speakeasy they eventually find is loud and crowded, bursting at the seams with the same energy flowing through Charlotte itself.  It’s no New York City, but Alfred feels invigorated here, and he lets Camille pull him through the doorway with a giddy sort of feeling bubbling up inside of him.

“You’re the cat’s meow, Cammy,” Alfred breathes into her ear as they stumble, already tipsy, through the haze of cigarette smoke to the bar.  “Just perfect.”

Her sequinned red dress glints in the low light, and she grins in pleasure as she tugs him down by the tie, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“You’re all right yourself, Al.  Now buy us a drink or two, huh?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he replies, somehow finding the strength to detach himself from her.  As he heads to the barkeep, he calls over his shoulder, “Why don’t you find us a seat, Cam?  Somewhere nice and outta the way!”

Camille laughs and waves him off.  “I will!”  She replies before disappearing into the crowd, hips swaying.

Alfred convinces the bartender to let him have an entire bottle of bourbon and two glasses, before heading off in the direction he last saw Camille.  He has trouble peering through the speakeasy’s smoky haze, but when he finds her, he doesn’t like what he sees.

Camille is frowning and leaning away from a large man, whose hand rests on her shoulder.  His voice is thick with an accent that Alfred can’t place and can barely understand, but he knows that whatever he’s saying is upsetting Camille.

Eyes narrowing, Alfred stalks toward them, pushing through the crowd till he stands between Camille and the man. 

 “Hey!  Hands off, fella,” He snarls, once Camille sends him a smile to indicate that she’s all right.  “The lady ain’t interested.”

“And who are you to say so?”  He thinks the man replies, his eyebrow cocked.  He’s bigger than Alfred, bulkier and more massive, but Alfred doesn’t much care.  With a growl, he turns and presses the glasses and booze into Camille’s hands before winding back his arm and leaping forward to sock the man across the face.

He can feel the man’s nose crack under his knuckles, and he can’t help but grunt in satisfaction when the man drops like lead, gaping up at him in undeniable surprise.

“It was pretty damn obvious,” he says, finally answering the man’s question.  “And it ain’t right to impose on a lady when she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”  He pauses for a minute and then adds, “You’re lucky as hell I came when I did, otherwise Cammy here would’ve shot you dead.  She don’t take kindly to men to won’t take no for an answer.”  Behind him, Camille shift and raises her chin proudly.

Alfred can hear the other patrons murmuring uneasily around them, but no one makes any move to help the fallen man, not when his smaller opponent is capable of taking him down in one hit.

He keeps his eyes trained on the man who made a grab for Camille, not paying any attention to the bang of a door being thrown open that sounds in the distance.  It’s less important than teaching a lesson to the guy lying flat on the ground before him.

But then there’s a voice rising above the crowd’s noise, a man shouting, “FBI!” and the speakeasy goes silent for one tense moment before erupting into chaos.  Then Alfred doesn’t care about fighting anymore—better to get away without trouble.  They can’t take any chances with the Feds swarming in.

Alfred swears softly and takes Camille’s hand, tugging her toward the exit as inconspicuously as he can.  They dart through the door just as someone calls their names—their real names—and disappear into the night before they see who it is.

“Hurry, Al!”  Camille hisses, clinging to him.  Alfred steadies her when her heels catch on the uneven street and doesn’t let her go, even as he glances around for their car.

“This way!”  He says, ducking around a building, just as one of the cops turn their way.

Somehow they make it to their car without being seen, so they take a few minutes to catch their breath.  Knowing that they shouldn’t tarry, Camille straightens up.  Before she can start the ignition, though, Alfred reaches for her and drags her close, crushing their mouths together desperately, the relief of their getaway finally hitting him.  Camille tangles her fingers through his hair, gasping, and Alfred never wants to let her go.

But the taste of moonshine is heavy on her lips and it reminds him that they’re not completely free yet, so he forces himself away with a low, rumbling groan.  They’re both slightly dazed, but there are gunshots in the distance and no time left.

“Drive,” he whispers.

Camille takes a deep shaky breath and nods, and the car roars to life.  They can hear one of the bulls shouting behind them, so Alfred grabs his gun and fires haphazardly out the window.  He doesn’t much care about actually hitting them, but he wants to slow their pursuers down, so he keeps firing until he can’t see the cop cars any longer.

-

They make it out of the city okay, speeding past cotton fields till the police sirens fade behind them, but three days after their escape, their luck finally runs out.  The Feds dot the highway ahead, guns trained on their car, ready to shoot, and Alfred grimaces.  He’s long run out of bullets, not that a handgun is any use here.  The two of them alone are no match for cops with Tommy guns.

They’re exhausted, anyway, from the lack of sleep and proper meals.  Alfred closes his eyes, exhales softly, and reaches for Camille’s hand.

“We ain’t gonna get away from them,” he says.

Camille looks at him and grins, ferally.  “No,” she agrees.  “But we’ll go out with a bang.”  The thought seems to restore the brilliance to her tired eyes, so Alfred returns her grin.

“All right, babe.  Let’s do it.”

She revs the car and floors it.  The last thing Alfred hears is her laughter ringing louder than gunshots.

(And they get their fifteen minutes of fame.)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The lyrics in the beginning are from the musical "Bonnie & Clyde"
> 
> 2\. Some wonderful 1920s slang: [here](http://local.aaca.org/bntc/slang/slang.htm)
> 
> 3\. Prohibition in the United States lasted from 1920-1933. This fic takes place after 1927, but before the stock market crash in October, 1929.
> 
> 4.“It Girl” was a nickname of Clara Bow’s, for her role in the movie "It" (1927), which launched her into superstardom. She was one of Hollywood’s leading sex symbols during the twenties. The term has since come to represent a woman with “it,” that something that makes them sexually alluring without having to try.
> 
> 5\. After 1923, Charlotte, North Carolina experienced tremendous growth, and by 1927, when the Federal Reserve opened its offices in the city, it had become a major financial center. It was one of the biggest cities in the South, which was traditionally less urban than the North. There was plenty of money going in and out of the city throughout the Roaring Twenties. 
> 
> 6\. Alfred and Camille were headed for Atlantic City, New Jersey. Called “America’s Playground,” it was famous for its flagrant disregard of federal Prohibition laws. The seaside resort city flourished as local law enforcement ignored all illegal activity. In 1929, it even played host to a convention of the USA’s most powerful criminals. HBO’s "Boardwalk Empire" is based off of this.
> 
> 7\. Originally posted here: [here](http://kittens-everywhere.tumblr.com/post/86040910810/)
> 
> (ETA) 8. You can read a Russian translation [here](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2895725)


End file.
